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February 10th, 2005
A light flashed bright in the Indigo Lounge, brighter than the twinkle of sequin dresses and cocktail glasses, reflecting from every crystalline and brass surface. Billy blinked, but kept singing, wary of another flash.
The new photographer stood at the other side of the room, behind the groups of chairs and the dance floor, dressed in a standard issue Oceanic uniform with a white equipment bag. The camera flashed again, and then lowered to be wound down, the roll of film finished.
Billy had seen him several times before since they’d left port. Orlando Bloom. How could he not? The young man was gorgeous. Dark brown curls reached to his collar. Sometimes he tied it back in a short queue as he’d been told by corporate, but more often than not it was left loose, since no one had yet reprimanded him for it here. Dark eyes glittered warm and cold and hot. The smile was particularly devastating and Orlando absolutely knew it, using it to full advantage with passengers and crew alike. But in the time he’d been on the ship, he remained a mystery and appeared to prefer it that way. Everyone wanted to know him, and the few who had gotten close didn’t say much.
Those chocolate eyes were fastened on Billy now, watching him on the stage, listening to him sing Cheap Trick of all things, a look of piqued interest in the slight tilt of his head and the corner of his mouth.
Billy could hardly say he was immune.
March 2nd, 2005
He was from Kent and went to school in London, which was all he would say on the subject. He wore a necklace beneath his uniform full of little baubles, each one random and unique, like a child’s collection of pebbles. He also didn’t drink much, said little about the music, and preferred to dance alone. His hands hovered around his mouth and hair when he spoke, and his eyes darted around the room.
Orlando watched things. He watched everything, and he was still and very nearly predatory while he did it. It was like being close to some kind of falcon, movements precise and careful, then flitting around in a flurry of motion when he was finished examining whatever prey he’d spotted in his lens or otherwise.
Elijah was riveted by him, all balls and high blood pressure, and had got it in his head that Orlando would, in fact, enjoy dancing with him. Orlando tolerated it to a point and then disappeared when he’d had enough, which was the way most people dealt with Elijah. Elijah took it in stride and danced with Billy and everyone else, drank his fill and clamored for the sort of attention Billy actively didn’t give him anymore.
He loved the little prat, but didn’t love him. Elijah knew this and being young, he didn’t really understand, though he tried anyway. Billy had passed a point somewhere at the equator where a casual lay was great, but most nights it just didn’t cut it anymore. A ship grew into a can of sardines over time, and any new blood was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Most especially if it walked and talked sex and swung both ways, which Orlando did.
And refreshingly, it was Orlando who made a move.
“What’s this?” Orlando asked, tugging lightly on the piece of jade at Billy’s throat from across a table in the Midnight. One slim finger followed the cord to the pulse in Billy’s neck.
Billy leaned back, away from the touch, meeting those dark eyes in challenge. “A promise.”
A slim brow arched, “To who?”
Billy looked over Orlando with careful consideration, and didn’t answer.
Orlando cracked a dazzling smile, “Shall I guess?”
Billy took up his beer and sat back, tilting his bottle. “Be my guest.”
Mimicking Billy, Orlando leaned back and regarded him with a sparkling gaze. “See, my first guess might be your own personal stylist, not to mention your back-up singer. The one who…” Orlando’s grin grew wicked, “…cuts your hair. Same time every week. Same place. After hours and closed doors and tittering little American giggles.”
Billy chuckled and shook his head. Liv was as new as Orlando to the Kismet, and she was instantly sweet and friendly and absolutely lovely. She could sing, dance, and woo any wooable man in ten seconds flat with the sort of demure, yet sassy kittenish nature she projected. Billy was not that man, though she did give a bloke a damn good haircut.
“My next one would be your bar man,” Orlando tried again. “The way you two put your heads together and talk and… not talk. But no dice, eh? Straight as a damned ruler and banging the masseuse on top of it.”
Billy almost choked, “Miranda?”
Orlando clicked his tongue. “You see? You’ve got to open your eyes, Bill. I see things most people pass right on by. Your man had her yesterday evening, before working the bar. He’ll break to you sooner or later, it’s just that right now he’s a bit afraid she doesn’t feel quite the same.”
Billy stared at his beer. They’d been friends for ages, how had he missed this? Bean and Miranda. Who’d have ever thought? She was Abby’s polar opposite for one thing. Then again they had yowled at each other like wet cats before the divorce finally went through, Billy right in the thick of it trying to pretend he wasn’t there…
“My last guess would have to be that steward you carry on with, the pretty little thing with the eyes,” Orlando said next. Billy met those dark eyes sharply with his own delicate warning. Orlando grinned with a tilt to his head. “Ah. I see how it is. A little possessive, are we, Bill?”
“No,” Billy muttered behind a swallow of drink, “I keep an eye on him. I want him to be careful, is all.”
“You want him to be careful that he doesn’t get hurt. He has in the past, curling up in any warm bed that will take him so he doesn’t have to be alone in the dark. You try to get him to make good choices. Choices you didn’t make yourself. But he’s wild, isn’t he? Like you. You can try, Billy, but he won’t listen.” Orlando’s voice turned slow and silky, “You want him to find someone who gives him what you couldn’t.”
Billy glanced away from those dark, penetrating eyes. They saw a lot. Far too much.
“You want to find someone who gives you what he couldn’t,” Orlando murmured, his fingers trip-tugging on the pendant once again.
Billy closed his eyes, swallowed and let the fingers linger.
March 3rd, 2005
Billy threw his arms above his head and took a heavy breath to slow his heart rate. Orlando lay gasping hot against his neck, the skin over his back shining in the lamplight as he caught his breath and slid to one side.
It had been a hard, slow, driving fuck, the like of which Billy had not had in years. Not with someone that strong, able to hold Billy down and really fuck him hard. He could still feel it too, an ache that would throb for a while. He felt wrung out and spent and… he didn’t know what else.
Orlando pulled off the condom and tossed it. He propped his head on one hand to look over Billy with a smile, sliding the finger of his free hand over Billy’s lips. “I wonder how many people here know you sound just as sexy in bed.”
Billy snorted, “Charmer.”
“Like you,” Orlando countered, “But then there’s this…” he tugged gently on the pendant at Bill’s throat, “…that I just can’t figure out.”
Billy stared up at the ceiling of his stateroom in silence. Soft lips applied themselves to the pulse in his neck causing a flutter, and teeth followed to cause a jump.
“You’re as much a mystery on this ship as me, Bill, you know that?” Orlando purred against skin. “Everyone wants you, but no one has you. You sing up there on that stage and put ideas in people’s heads, and then you come down here sleep alone. And no one’s bothered to ask why, hmm?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Billy answered.
“Doesn’t it?”
Billy swallowed, breathing through his nose when Orlando chased it down his neck with his lips. His heart rate had slowed but that feeling still lingered, a giddy, nervous urge to speak, to have someone listen, the desperation to be understood. Oh, he wanted to believe these were things he could get passed his throat and know he would not be ridiculed for his mistakes. He’d wished to speak these things to someone who was more than just a friend. He’d lain on the deck of this boat after hours wishing it so often, he wondered if there were stars left that he hadn’t yet tried.
“Who’s in the picture?” Orlando asked, pointing to the end table at a photograph in a small plastic frame.
“Family,” Billy said on a sigh, not having to look. So very close to that line he feared, but wanted to cross.
“You, mum and your… sister.”
“Aye.” Billy watched the young man’s face, gazing at the picture and then flitting down to his fingers, to the pendant on Billy’s chest.
“How quaint,” he murmured, dropping his mouth to Billy’s skin once again.
Billy knitted his brows. Part of him was vastly relieved the question wasn’t pushed, but the bored dismissal stung more than he’d ever expected.
Pushing Orlando off, he got out of the bed, padding to the en suite bathroom. He wet a facecloth in the sink and wiped the come off his stomach and the lube from his arse. Orlando watched his every move with those glittering eyes as he pulled on a pair of boxers and hung up his tux next to the others in his small closet.
“I see how it is,” Orlando said with knowing little grin from the bed. “I found your breaking point already, Bill.”
“Congratulations,” Billy answered shortly. “You could have just asked.”
“It wouldn’t have been any fun that way,” Orlando crawled from the sheets and stretched out on his stomach with a cat-like grin. “So are you going to tell all or stay there all clammed up with indecision?”
Billy stared at the man in disbelief, anger beginning to pulse hotly, dangerously through his veins. He’d invited this man into his privacy and into his bed, and way too fucking near to his heart, and this was the sort of reception he got? Abruptly he turned back to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face with shaking hands, hands that wanted to curl into fists.
“You’re afraid.”
Billy curled his hands around the formica of the sink top to keep them still. “Maybe,” he said tightly, “But I don’t see how it’s any concern of yours.”
“Maybe,” Orlando echoed, “It would be if you’re looking for that Someone Special.”
Orlando got off of the bed and crossed to him, his fingers finding the pendant again, folding his fingers over the stone and its cord. “You’re never going to find someone to give this to,” he murmured, eyes darting between Billy’s own, “If you don’t let them in, let them see you.”
Staring back, Billy was struck by how frighteningly well this young man, barely older than Elijah, could read things he’d carefully hidden away. His large hand weighed down the necklace he wore, hadn’t taken off since he’d bought the silly thing on a lonely whim when the ship had come into the South Pacific. The other hand cupped his chin, thumb stroking over his lips, and Billy swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple touch knuckles. The hand pulled harder, sliding the knots of the cord together at the back of his neck.
His eyes lit again on the necklace around Orlando’s neck, pieces of metal and shell, beads, keys and rings, strung pell-mell around a chain. The image of his stone on that chain suddenly sprang into his head, and with little more thought, he grabbed Orlando’s slender wrists and squeezed. Hard. “Get out.”
“Bill–“ Orlando laughed and let go.
“Get dressed and get the fuck out,” Billy spat, pushing Orlando back, bending down and throwing him his clothes.
“You are something else,” Orlando chortled, pulling on his trousers. “You’ve got everyone here convinced you’re the perfect gentleman, God’s fucking gift, and you’re nothing but a scared little lovelorn pissant who felt so misunderstood as a kid. I can see you.”
“And I’ll not be another notch on your belt,” Billy snapped back, yanking open his door and depositing the rest of the Orlando’s uniform in the hall. “I can see you too.”
Orlando finished buttoning his trousers and paused with a hand on the doorframe. “You’re a good fuck though. Let me know if you need someone to nail you down again.”
Billy slammed the door on Orlando’s fingers, and even the yelp he heard through the door didn’t satisfy the vicious burn in his gut. He hoped it was his shutter finger.
November 24th, 2005
Billy woke to a sound, unsure if he’d heard it. He relaxed again, thinking it had been his imagination. Then it came again; a soft knock at the door, something that had become very familiar over the last several weeks. He rolled over and sighed, throwing the blankets off.
When he opened the door Elijah stood in the dim hall in sweat bottoms, undershirt, and a look that didn’t rise from his bare toes. Soft cotton did nothing to disguise his half-hard erection either.
“I told you last time, Lij.” Billy spoke quietly.
“I know, but–“
“No more coming to me with this,” Billy crossed his arms. “You want to be with him, you’re responsible for the consequences.”
Billy stood his ground and looked right back when Elijah raised his eyes. In a moment the boy dropped them with a nod and turned away, and Billy began to close the door.
“What’s wrong with me, Billy?” came his small voice. “Why do people say… the things they say? Why do they tell me I mean something to them, and then leave?”
Billy pulled the door open and caught the boy by the arm, pulling him back. “Look at me, lad. Look.” Elijah didn’t and Billy pulled his chin up. “Nothing’s wrong with you. Nothing. Sometimes… Sometimes people like him, they say things like that. They say they love you and they’ll make everything better for you. Maybe they mean it and maybe they don’t. But they’re just as afraid to say they’ve fucked it all up for themselves and they can’t fix it anymore. Okay?”
Elijah closed his eyes in acknowledgement, and Billy pulled him into the room to hug him, letting the door pull itself shut. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat he hadn’t realized developed. “Christ, there’s nothing wrong with us, Lij. We messed up and we keep paying for it, that’s all.”
Elijah sniffed against his bare shoulder and steadied his breath, arms limp under Billy’s grasp. “I’m so tired, Bill.”
Billy recognized the ploy. Elijah was very good at getting his way with these tricks, but that the same time Billy knew when the boy had reached a breaking point. “Are you all right?” he asked, pushing him away by the shoulders to look him over. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“Jesus Billy, I’m not fucking breakable,” Elijah grumbled, but didn’t look up, “He just… left. Finished and left me.”
There was a time when Elijah had been a very easy conquest. There was even a time when Billy wondered if the desire to keep him safe was the fairy tale ideal of love he sought. But no, it was a far more simple and personal blow on Orlando’s part. Billy could solve it all by taking Elijah for himself, showing him what it was to be in the sort of relationship everyone dreams of, one where there are no secrets. But it would be a staged lie. Billy’s heart would still long for the sort of understanding Elijah did not know how to give. Not because he was stupid or blind, but because they were far too alike. He and Elijah were like parallel lines running beside each other, ever following the same path, but never meeting in the middle. Orlando could see it as well as Billy.
He sighed and rubbed his face in fatigue, and looked the boy over carefully. “Sleep only, you know that. F’you want to have a wank in my toilet, you can.”
“It’s a lost cause, anyway,” Elijah muttered. “I just want… I only want…”
Nodding, Billy crossed back to his bed, pulling Elijah with him. He scooted in farther in, holding open the coverlet. The boy turned his back and snuggled into the warm crook of Billy’s front, pulling Billy’s arm around himself. It was the best they both could do for each other in a place that seemed bent on denying them what they truly wanted.
Billy tucked himself in and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Elijah’s head, murmuring softly, “Nothing wrong with us.”
February 19th, 2006
Billy emerged on the deck and took a moment at the railing, closing his eyes into the breeze. The sounds were familiar: the slap of the waves meeting the bow below, the bickering of seabirds in the air. Excited voices of new passengers rose and fell all around. A champagne cork popped and there came the boom of Mr. Rhys-Davies’ laughter, back again for the third year running. All were comfortable noises, but one. The snap-whir of a camera shutter still had a habit of raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
One more go around. The end of contract loomed and this year it was as much incentive to go as to stay. This year things would change. Threads were pulling out of the weave already. Miranda was homesick, and Bean would follow her to the moon and back. Elijah was relentless and deaf to Billy’s attempts at wisdom.
Christ, but Billy had tried. The boy was just too easily caught in a moment; he trusted his gut instinct before rational thought. Billy had been there once too. Elijah was young and would suffer many mistakes Billy couldn’t keep him from making. All he could to was be there when the world fell in and let him go when he wanted to fly.
He couldn’t deny that he felt the urge to start over himself. Here was a stability Billy had never known and yet it wasn’t ever enough. He was thirty-six years old and still felt sixteen some days, striking out on a hope that had slowly unraveled over the years to only a few clinging threads.
He glanced down the railing. A man stood there, a passenger, watching a cormorant as it followed the ship out to sea. He was alone where most everyone else was not, and the look on his face was one that set an ache deep down in Billy’s chest. His own desires suddenly seemed trivial. Why would someone beginning a cruise that Billy knew from experience to be one of the most beautiful be so melancholy? And why would he be so alone?
The snap-whir sound of a camera broke his attention, and Billy’s eyes met Orlando’s across the deck. The cold chocolate glare held his eyes before being covered again by the camera, fixing the maudlin young man in the viewfinder without his consent, and the sound issued once, twice more.
Billy swallowed stiffly. It would be a beautiful shot, framed by the colors painted in the east by the opposite sunset. A solitary, lonesome figure looking out from a day that was ending toward one that had not yet arrived. Not knowing that this moment, right now, was so very fleeting. It frayed his nerves that Orlando captured people that way and kept them.
Crossing the few yards, Billy cleared his throat, smiled and spoke gently, hoping he could break the man out of his unhappiness. “Can I do anything for you, Sir? Get you a drink?”
“No.” The answer was quick. Quiet, but sharp. He didn’t even look up. “Thank you.”
Billy blinked. That was a brick wall if ever he’d come to one. This man had blocked himself into a fortress. Perhaps this trip was meant to break him out.
Nodding politely, he left it at that. From Orlando’s perspective, it surely looked like defeat, but Billy allowed himself a private smile.
This broken young man and Orlando ran parallel, but in opposite directions. Let him have his pictures. They were moments in time, conquests to look back on. But nothing more than that.